To see Daniel Day-Lewis reemerge under his son’s daring direction is more than a comeback; it’s a cinematic conflagration, a collision of legacy and reinvention that feels historic.

With nothing but artful austerity to offer as a tether back to reality, The Ice Tower shatters.

By the end, Are We Good? transcends its conventional biographical trappings to land somewhere soulful. Dragging us through the wreckage of grief and out the other side, it suggests that Maron’s legacy isn’t merely acerbic stand-up or podcast milestones, but the more complex work of becoming human in public.

Brides has good bones — an interesting premise and a clearly capable director — but it’s unclear what it ultimately wants to say.

Ultimately, Driver’s Ed does win you over, and you can always watch it the way its protagonists would—while scrolling through your phone.

Fierce and unrelenting, Paul Thomas Anderson’s “One Battle After Another” burns as both an incendiary action epic and a tender family drama, alive with humor, conviction, and revolutionary spirit. And amid all its pandemonium, Sergio’s reminder that “freedom is no fear” lingers as the film’s quiet truth, a mantra passed down like a torch. Few films this year feel so vital, so breathtaking in scope and soul. Viva la revolución, indeed.

Both actors are superb, but the problem is that history isn’t really on their side. The incidents depicted in “Saipan” were dramatic in 2002, especially in the sports arena, and to a fixated Irish public who took sides. But two decades later, it all lands with a thud.

Credit where credit is due, Sacrifice ultimately made me seriously consider the prospect of death while watching it. However, this mostly came from a desire for it all to end so we no longer had to keep enduring the inescapably vapid and shallow film unraveling before us.

The Fence presents a theatrical style that paralyzes the film into a tense but frustrating checkmate for much of its running time.

The film rests squarely on Farrell and Robbie. They have chemistry and a guiding hand in Kogonada, but ultimately A Big Bold Beautiful Journey is undone by a syrupy, over-romanticized screenplay untempered by the director’s usual delicacy and restraint.

What could’ve been a fun little sci-fi horror transforms into something that deflates any remaining tension and engagement in one fell swoop.

It’s a film where every detail of the craft is worth taking in even when the story starts to lose steam a bit towards the end.

It’s one of those well-intentioned efforts that feels inherently too safe. There’s nothing wrong with that, but Roher teases that he knows he could reach higher.

It’s a bit of a bumpy ride in “Rose of Nevada” as the abstractions of his technique bristle against the demands of the storytelling to balance various story elements (not to mention an ensemble cast).

It’s super funny, the performances are natural, and the whole endeavor is beyond charming. It’s a movie clearly meant to fit into the studio comedy mold, so it goes down easy.

Karia has Ahmed’s impassioned performance, one of his best, a committed and talented cast, often stunning visuals from director of photography Stuart Bentley, as well as his own imaginative staging to captivate the viewer.

It’s a marvel that Bennett crafted this screenplay almost at the age of 90. And his dialogue is often sharp and witty. The scenario is ripe for a captivating and moving drama. And yet, perhaps this was one project that needed a different director at the helm for the material to truly resonate.

Even as Fuze is not a great film, let alone one that will be remembered as a classic new take on the genre, it’s an endlessly watchable one.

This movie is Ferreira’s moment, and she rules.

[Fuller's] whimsical new family-action-adventure film is a lovingly crafted paean to a child’s imagination and a throwback to the glorious family films of the ’80s. It is also visually dazzling beyond all reason with staggering production design.

Peck’s genuine admiration for the sharpness and clarity of Orwell’s writing, combined with the rich tonality of Damian Lewis’ narration, gives the author as grandly respectful a presentation as “I Am Not Your Negro” did for James Baldwin. If “Orwell: 2+2=5” gets one more person to discover Orwell’s work for themselves, then its job will have been accomplished.

An engaging enough dramatization of the true story of a man who became known for spending months hiding out in a Toys “R” Us to escape capture after robbing businesses by coming in through their roofs, Derek Cianfrance’s “Roofman” is also a regrettably safe film defined by missed opportunities that ultimately steals any deeper resonances it could find right out from under you.

Charlie Harper is a fine romantic melodrama.

California Schemin’ is an impressive calling card that suggests McAvoy shouldn’t make this project a one-time wonder.

Its zippy stylings never feel derivative or overly familiar. Watching this adaptation is like getting caught up inside a storybook drama designed for adults, maintaining a mythic quality while harnessing the complexities of reality.

Ultimately, the film is not only about children who refused to surrender, but also about a country that, for a brief moment, managed to put aside divisions in service of something greater. Like the best of Vasarhelyi and Chin’s work, it transforms an extraordinary true story into something more universal: a tale of endurance, release, and the desperate search for light.

Good Fortune is a refreshing comedy that audiences haven’t seen in a while, a movie with a message that both advocates for a cause and entertains.

What Early, who also wrote the screenplay, has his sights on is the hilarious tropes of the movie-of-the-week genre. And he almost completely pulls it off.

If you can imagine a firearm kill, an explosion, or a knife-fight, chances are that Wheathely has packed into Normal— so bountiful are the action confrontations with various configurations of characters.

The contemporary allegories are obvious, but too much of Vanderbilt’s screenplay gets lost in literal card tricks and heightened melodrama.

The Man in My Basement is a slow burn, to be sure, and though things come out fully cooked, there’s little flavor and more flash than sizzle.

Both McConaughey and Ferrera’s characters embody the idea of an everyday hero: perhaps imperfect but unselfishly stepping up to help others in a time of crisis. While the movie’s artifice makes it a thrilling watch, its real-life inspiration is equally just as moving.

McKellen has been given a wonderful late-career gift in Steven Soderbergh’s The Christophers, a role that allows him to deliver one of his best performances in years.

Despite some creative missteps, there’s still some fight left in “Christy” and Sweeney to make it to the next round.

Rian Johnson has seamlessly crafted another murder mystery with even more delicious twists and turns than the previous two installments. Maybe even combined. Somewhat hard to believe until you witness it for yourself. And, along with a slightly (and emphasis on “slightly”) more serious tone, the result is often smashing.

It often seems as though Hikari is being pulled toward a prespective that is simply not Japanese enough to provide a true cultural perspective. But, more importantly, Hikari knows how to push enough emotional buttons without the audience sensing they are being manipulated. And, for many, those talents mean Rental Family will lead to genuine tears.

Mielants and Porter end the film in a manner that is almost offensive to the audience. This isn’t about providing a spotlight for kids with behavioral issues or the professionals who commit their lives to them; it’s melodrama for melodrama’s sake, with an awkward attempt at a “happy ending” that is borderline cringe.

McElwee probes the very idea of memory itself, and in perhaps his crowning achievement as a documentarian, fails to come up with any definitive answers, yet somehow still moves closer to the truth than he ever had before.

The movie feels like a cinematic palate cleanser the closer it comes to its inevitable ending.

It’s engaging to watch without requiring viewers to completely turn off their brains. Van Sant makes “Dead Man’s Wire” move like a well-oiled machine, even if he can only get so much mileage from an old vehicle. Simple, familiar pleasures are still pleasures.

Take out a thesaurus for any overused critical buzzword about political cinema – timely, urgent, necessary – and they all fail to capture the shattering impact of Kaouther Ben Hania’s The Voice of Hind Rajab.

For all its faults, whether intentional or otherwise, the ending still manages to stick the landing, in all its strange glory, resulting in something that must be seen; that said, it’s not to be believed, but rather to appreciate, as tricky as that may be.

Solid performances, a clever conceit, and technical over-competence behind the camera bolster what is ultimately a predictable and sometimes unpleasant viewing experience.

Even as Reinhart does solid work with the shaky material, her character remains adrift in a meandering psychological thriller that offers only a superficial look into her psyche.

Oppenheim’s script deepens that burgeoning pit of terror with its sequencing of events and information.

Despite this welcome insight into the muddy rules of their relationship, the approach to Kerr’s addiction is the only time “The Smashing Machine” feels a tad slight, the filmmaker proving perhaps a bit too close to its subject to properly gnaw at the ugliness of chemical dependency and rehabilitation.

The Testament of Ann Lee often proves difficult to pin down, providing enthrallment in fits and starts rather than inducing a consistent state of rapture. It’s a bit slippery in the way that chasing the divine presence in art or life can be: present and tangible, then eluding one’s grasp like smoke.

Despite a “you can see it coming” final baccarat game in the third act, designed to crowd-please, it all somehow feels flat and generic. And, worse, decidedly not fresh.

There is a moment in the final act between Graham and White that will be hard to forget. A moment that is masterfully directed and performed with the utmost humanity. So much so that you almost wish the movie ended right then and there.

Law’s take on the Russian leader feels both real and mysterious — two features that the film otherwise struggles to corral across its unwieldy runtime.

The film exists outside of boundaries of “good” or “bad.” It’s just true, which makes it scarier in many ways. The melancholy doesn’t just live inside Jarmusch’s world. It leaps off the screen and demands to be felt.

Although the narrative is faithful to the book, del Toro rewrites the dialogue almost completely, an exercise whose only chance of success relies on his ingrained understanding of Shelley’s writing and tonal cadence. The result is a stunning piece of text, acutely aware of the labyrinthine nature of our most primitive emotions, and zigzagging through musings on love and loss and want with the careful rhythms of a writer who gets that tackling the grandiose often merits delicacy.

While Magellan is still a haunting vision, the ghosts of a more impactful film you remember most are also the ones that can feel pushed to the margins of the frame.

Zhao has fashioned a masterwork that, once again, straddles the line between narrative and cinematic art in a manner few of her contemporaries can match.

If you’re seeking an escapist popcorn-like thriller, Caught Stealing should do the trick. But if you’re yearning for something more substantive, you may end up feeling slightly swindled. Still, credit Aronofsky for picking your pocket with a deft touch, and stealing a base with style.

Director Park expertly fuses genres, navigating deftly between broad satire and taut thriller while always maintaining a grounding in the humanity of his characters. A hearty helping of gallows humor delivered with a marvelously mordant twist by the talented acting ensemble also cuts across both modes of filmmaking.

A bothersome, ever-present sense of constraint permeates this twisted drama on the complexities of Gen Z morality. The Italian auteur, renowned for gnawing at the knotty edges of controversy with the unrestrained hunger of the unbothered, seems somewhat hesitant to fully dig into the messiness of the piping hot issue at hand.

It is Clooney, of course, that anchors and crowns this dramedy milimetrically envisioned to tug at the hearts of cinephiles (and, for the sake of addressing the elephant in the Netflix room, awards voters).

Low rent, CGI splatter effects by the bucket-full honor the Troma roots of this property, while practical costume, make-up, and production design speak to the reverence of the same. It ain’t pretty, sure: but that was never the Toxic Avenger’s style. Blair and company understand this, and the movie (world?) is better for it.

Bugonia might be as blissfully bonkers as the era of its release, yet don’t let that distract from what a masterclass in directorial control the film represents for Yorgos Lanthimos.

La Grazia embodies much of the Sorrentino appeal, even if it registers in more of a minor key for the Italian auteur. The film is playful when it wants to be and pensive when it needs to be.

She Rides Shotgun sits as a perfect example of every filmmaking ingredient coming together beautifully, balanced in a way that would make Thanos take pause, and as much a showcase for the talent onscreen as for those working to fuse this film’s take on the world that is the neo-western. There’s plenty here to keep eyeballs glued, and every scene gets better.

This film is like some kind of corrupted, infectious, cinematic black hole that obscures and swallows all other sins in and around it. Artistically irredeemable and impossible to recommend on any basis whatsoever, about the only thing Ebony & Ivory succeeds at is matching the artistic value of the eponymous song: a dubious distinction if ever there was one.

Smith brings a tone of melancholy to the closing stretches of “Devo,” acknowledging in some way that all revolutions fade and mass cultural subversion will only ever work up to a point. But there is also a lack of sentimentality or resume-burning here, which feels of a piece with the band’s spiky posture and protest mentality.

Weapons underscores how in command Creeger is of his entire movie, the mise-en-scène, the craft, tone, mood and sweaty, ominous, dread-inducing atmosphere. Its final act is batshit crazy and climaxes in a jaw-dropping wave of exhilarating, terrifying feeding frenzy of satisfying comeuppance. Weapons will leave you thrilled, aghast, horrified and wowed.

With an eye for staging and composition as well as an ear for absurd dialogue, Schaffer brings boundless energy to bear that proves electric and infectious to watch unfold. The film never lets off the gas for a second, jolting a dormant franchise back to life—and, hopefully, the entire practice of theatrically-released studio comedies along with it.

The Baltimorons is terrific and features an excellent mix of humor, sweetness, hijinks, hilarity, warmth, wistful melancholy, and charisma that’s off the charts, both in the actors and the movie itself.

Marvel’s ‘First Steps’ may feel somewhat unique in tone, carefree and blithe in a manner audiences haven’t seen before, and yes, these inaugural strides are the best version of these heroes to be experienced on screen. But unfortunately, that doesn’t necessarily mean that ‘First Steps is essential, or even fantastic viewing.

As the focused film delicately yet decisively establishes, a job is still just a job and can take more from you than you may realize going into it, leaving you to one day look around to discover there is no ground beneath your feet.

“Superman” may leap tall buildings and succeed on most of Gunn’s terms, divergent from Marvel and old DC, inversely punk rock, and overloaded with bright, colorful hopefulness, but it won’t really soar like a bird or a plane for anyone who demands symbolic gestures of optimism are meaningfully made.

For anyone who even gives even the remotest care about movies, god forbid you dare to waste your time with this utterly disposable discard.

To say it’s a step backward for the franchise is an understatement.

O’Brien has never had the opportunity to play such a sketchy, dirty character before and utterly kills it. This is the sort of performance that make casting directors take notice.

The chemistry between Patel and Hardy is often divine, and the latter delivers such a layered and charismatic performance you’re with it till the end.

Pearce does have a good sense of how to direct actors and give the story something closer to genuine tension in how patient he can be in the focused dialogue scenes, though the story itself is too shaky for him to hold it together.

There’s probably just enough elevation by Pearce and Jarvis’ performances to overpower the novice inputs of Williams and Miller. Inside is mostly passable as a film about men and prisons that thinks – wait for it – inside the box.

The film’s real revelation is that 14-year-old Alfie Williams. For all of the names in the picture, it’s an ensemble built around him, and Williams proves his mettle and will undoubtedly have a long and prosperous career after this film.

It’s something of a miracle that F1 remains as compelling as it is, mainly thanks to its cast and the visceral nature of Kosinski’s filmmaking.

As an perceptive story about desireability, our collective value as people or romantic partners, what we’re worth, what we’re willing to compromise for happiness and love and how the courtship market makes us treat one another as casual, often throw-away commodities, it’s an insightful, if imperfect, piece worthy of your affections.

That bond between Hiccup and Toothless, mostly thanks to Thames’ impressive commitment, with that Powell score thrown in for good measure? Heavens, it’s simply glorious. And just like the original, you’ll want to experience it all over again.

Let’s say Dangerous Animals gets the job done, but were it not for Jai Courtney, this would fall somewhere in the realm of any film about a kidnapee.

Earnest, pulpy fun at the movies is always a welcome sell. Still, it’s hard to settle into the easy rhythms of amusement when looking for answers not to the film’s central mysteries but to the nagging gaps in a story that seems carelessly scribbled together to accommodate a character that, although compelling enough, has very little to chew on.

Rather than individuals facing all-too-common yet rarely portrayed challenges, the characters here seem little more than pawns in a predictable game, whose conclusion is never in doubt.

A Useful Ghost should first and foremost be enjoyed as the mainstream accessible entertainment it is meant to be, let not its festival trappings deceive you. It will admittedly be a curiosity for Western audiences, but once in tune with its peculiar and particular modes of storytelling, they will find plenty to enjoy and unpack.

Ballerina is passable as a continuation of “John Wick” mythology. However, it’s not strong enough to organically generate comparable enthusiasm for continued storytelling with this character.

More of a treasured time capsule for die-hard fans than a primer for newcomers, nevertheless, It’s All Gonna Break remains an authentic portrait of a radiant, messy, and ultimately triumphant collective that defied the odds and stayed alive.

Pleasant enough to look at but impossible to care about, this movie isn’t bad because it fails at what it sets out to do, but because of the most evil of all reasons: it never figures out its reason to be at all.

It feels too thin too often and a missed opportunity when it comes to tapping into the franchise’s deeper emotional legacy. The journey could have taken us to worse destinations, but this feels like a good place to stop.

The Mastermind sees Reinhardt working with a bigger budget and a larger scale, but she never loses her languorous, absorbing sensibilities as a filmmaker. She’s never been better.

Whenever it leans into these poignant metaphors to ask questions of guilt and duty, A Private Life grasps at something real and raw. It’s a shame Zlotowski so willingly refuses to take her finger off that pulse, even if the result remains a pleasurable ride.

Dipping his toe into the not-so different motifs of Hollywood Westerns and telenovelas with a wink or two to some queer cinema classics, Céspedes has bold artistic aspirations.

It’s through the alchemy of cinema that the Davies brothers have carried out a resurrection of a soul now frozen intact on the screen.

Throughout this journey across North Africa, Laxe peppers the film with moments that touch on pertinent themes such as the power of a chosen family, Western society’s naive self confidence when confronting the environment, and perhaps most poignantly, the fallacy that because we have so little control, we can dance away as the world crumbles around us.

In the hands of another filmmaker, these events could be the sparks of loud and fiery confrontations, but Simón insists they play out in a grounded, quiet fashion. There is barely a hint of melodrama, even when you can sense the tension amongst the siblings and their parents.

It’s a film with the power to fundamentally rewire your brain as it puts itself in conversation with the ghosts of cinema’s past.

Heavens, that masterful first half of filmmaking. That quiet, subtle love affair. That charismatic pairing between Mescal and O’Connor, which, for a moment, feels like a cinematic romance for the ages. Oh, I’ll pay a ticket just to experience that again, absolutely. But just that. Just that.

As with much of his previous work, Trier is masterful with delicate, humanist moments.

Fountain Of Youth may feel superficially dynamic, and cinematically, it sure tries its best to trick you into thinking it’s a vigorous thing, but it’s just a cup filled with empty calories, sustaining nothing and ironically, only just wasting precious minutes off your life.